Amnesia?
by DustedButterfly
Summary: In one of the many battles between the Order and the Death Eaters, Draco's memory is erased. However, it makes him much nicer, and Hermione falls for him and him for her! But if he remembers who he is, will he fight for her and for good or for evil? DMHG


**Amnesia?**

_Despite Voldemort's defeat, many Death Eaters still roam the skies, hoping to avenge their deceased Lord by aiming to destroy the Order of the Phoenix and regaining control over the wizarding world. In one of the many battles between good and evil, Draco's memory is erased, and the Order, who decide that an ignorant Death Eater could be of use to them, kidnap him! Thing is, this Draco isn't the same as before; quite a lot nicer, in fact, when not surrounded by the dark-hearted. So nice, even, that level-headed Hermione Granger begins to fall for him, and him for her. Will he ever find out who he is, and, if he does, which side will he pick then? DMHG, HPGW, slight RWHG. Post DH (but before last chapter)._

**Disclaimer: Well, (as you might probably have guessed!), the universe of Harry Potter was created by J.K.Rowling. Surprisingly enough, that's not me!**

This is my first fanfic, so please forgive me if it is too amateurish! Please do R&R, all constructive criticism will be greatly accepted.

Most of all, enjoy!

Thanks!

-Dusty-

* * *

**Prologue**

"Ha!" thought Draco to himself, a sneer drawing itself across his face. "_This_ is going to be my victory, just wait until father hears..."

The blond haired teenager was not, like the others, in the midst of the battling that was taking place between the Death Eaters and the Order, because he had chosen to undertake another "special" job instead. Although Draco was reasonably tall, his figure was fairly nimble and so well suited for what he did best...sneaking, something that was going to be crucial if he were to complete his task successfully.

After this, he was going to make sure that sneaking was a talent that was never overlooked again. It had been underestimated and laughed at by the other Death Eaters, who would call him "cowardly," "naïve" and "unprepared for the works of the Dark Lord," particularly so by his Aunt Bellatrix, although she had seemed to find fault with everything he did when she was alive. As he crawled behind a bush he winced a little, remembering her fierce, spiteful cackle towards "Ickle Draco," as he shook at the mention of Voldemort returning, or the wrath of her terrible rage when he had failed to murder Dumbledore (namely the pain she had inflicted upon him in punishment). At the thought of the headmaster, though, it was a twinge of shame that filled his stomach.

_Why wasn't I able to kill that pathetic old man?_

At the back of his mind a tiny voice seemed to reply instantly.

_Because, Draco, you're made for better things,_ it said.

He decided it was best ignored and instead pulled his focus towards the task at hand.

He was nearly there now, his moment was almost nigh, and he continued moving through the undergrowth. A bramble caught his left leg, scratching into it a reasonably deep cut, but it was nothing to Draco, so caught up was he in the excitement of his plan.

And there was Potter a few yards away, wand raised in a heated fight with Macnair. Malfoy couldn't believe that Harry hadn't even bothered to guard himself from behind; so foolish, and yet it made his scheme so simple! Raising onto his knees, he crept over and hid behind a nearby tree, a stone's throw from "The Boy Who Lived."

"Well, not in this case!" he muttered, smirking to himself.

Here was his chance at redeeming the Death Eaters, here was his shot at glory, here was his chance to show the world that the worshipped Potter was second rate to _him_, Draco Malfoy...and most of all, here was his time to prove that he wasn't a coward or wimp, but a brave, talented young man...

The coast was clear- Harry would be dead before he had even realised that he had been hit from behind! Draco stifled a laugh, feasting his greedy eyes on his prize, raising his wand, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Now all that remained was to say the spell that would grant him all he would ever wish for...

And yet, he faltered, as, just for a moment, that same hesitation that had struck him two years ago before a certain white-bearded wizard flooded his senses once again.

_Come on, I need to kill that dirty half-blood! _he said to himself, angry at his fear.

However, that split-second of uncertainty was Draco's downfall, as it was all it took for him to be caught out in the same manner he had so hoped for Harry...

"OBLIVIATE!"

"STUPEFY!"

The two voices came at once, and almost as soon as he realized it, he had been thrown backward through the air, and then everything went black.

* * *

**Chapter 1 - When?**

The first thing he noticed was the throbbing pains of two rather nasty bruises in his back, and this was even before opening his eyes. He was actually lying on his back too, and so this made it rather more uncomfortable, he reckoned. Shifting his weight slightly on his side, he couldn't help but flinch a little as he felt a surge of pain spread up through his left leg, and instantly recoiled back onto his back again, eyes now watering as he hit the two bruises once more.

Slowly, he sat up, and let his eyes make their own assessment of his physical state. The damage done to his body was worse than he had thought, with scratches and bumps adorning themselves over every inch of his flesh. One of his cheeks felt heavier than the other, and he realised that it must have swollen up, having been hit somehow, when...

_When what?_

He didn't know. He had no idea of the event that had caused him to fall into his current predicament!

_I should be able to remember this!_

Feeling a sort of anger connected with the event made him more confused. What had happened, and why on earth couldn't he remember? He demanded the answer the present itself before him, but with no luck. It was on the tip of his tongue, it had to be, and yet no further memories came to enlighten him. Before he could ponder too long, however, a door opened in the far side of the room he was in, causing him to notice his surroundings for the first time.

The room was a glaring orange, it's walls and ceiling completely covered with posters of wizards soaring through the air on broomsticks, the words "Chudley Cannons" emblazoned across their mandarin coloured robes, and he felt slightly overwhlemed for a moment by the rapid whizzing movements of maybe fifty or so of these pictures; even the bedspread had not been spared of this same theme. Dust was strewn heavily over the (rather threadbare) orange carpet and almost fully covered the piles of old toys scattered about the floor and windowsill. The room needed a good clean, but it was cozy, and somewhat comforting.

A stout, short red-haired woman entered, followed by two boys; the first tall and lanky, with hair of an equal radiance to the woman, and the second, skinnier, with jet black hair and a mysterious lightning shaped scar on his forehead. Both boys eyed him warily with a sort of coldness that he found rather intimidating.

"Raise your wand, Harry," said the taller one to the shorter, doing so himself. The other nodded and drew his out of his pocket to accompany the first, both pointing directly at the bed-ridden boy, who gulped nervously.

"Now now, Ronald, no need to be so melodramatic!" said the woman, who pulled out a bottle of liquid from a pocket in her apron, conjured up a glass and poured out a little of the fluid into it, all in one smooth motion. She hurried over to her guest.

"Firewhiskey," she beamed, handing it to him. "Drink this and you'll be right as rain in no time!"

He ndoded, and swallowed the liquid quickly, suddenly aware of a newfound thirst and hunger inside of him. The liquid warmed his insides and seemed to ease all of his aches and pains somewhat. He handed the empty tumbler back to the woman and attempted a smile of thanks in her direction. She grinned back at him, but he was disappointed to see that the cold, penetrating stare of the two boys was unchanged by this.

For a moment there was an awkward silence, until it was broken by the entrance of a teenage girl with an expression that seemed to match that of the lads present. She was, he noticed, extraordinarily pretty, with curly brown hair and deep, matching brown eyes. He couldn't help but look at her for a moment too long, and seeing this, she looked away, apparently uncomfortable about the depth of his gaze.

"It's alright, Hermione," said the black-haired boy, who had witnessed all that had just passed between them. "We're keeping an eye on him."

Another pause.

"What's your name?" asked the red-headed male, sternly, leaning in closer towards the bed. It sounded more like a statement than a question.

"My name? Well, it's..."

He couldn't believe that he hadn't thought to have asked himself before now, it seemed such an obvious thing to know, and he had been so sure that he had known, but just like the cause of his injuries- he didn't have a clue!

"I-I...I...don't know," he mumbled, shaking his head, utterly perplexed. He could have sworn he saw the tiniest of smiles growing on the lips of both boys- was something funny, and if so, what? However, he didn't say this, but frowned instead, his hand absentmindedly fiddling with the bedspread.

For the first time, the girl "Hermione" spoke up.

"Don't worry," she said, firmly. "Your name is Edward Hamilton and your memory was erased by the Death Eaters."

* * *

Sorry this chapter is so short; just to set the scene really! Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! Once again, please R&R! Thanks! nn 


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